


lost but not found.

by D3moira



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Romance, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-11 15:22:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11151177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D3moira/pseuds/D3moira
Summary: Alex comes from a life with another MC, one that was absorbed by the Sons. She can’t make peace with her place in the new world, not even after the years she’s spent in Charming. She doesn’t even know what she wants. Or, she does, and that’s the problem.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Jax Teller/Reader imagine. Kinda loosely based around S3, fudged timeline... Might end up AU post-S3 if I really push for it. The focus is more on a slow burn and realism to the interactions. This is pretty first draft, so expect it to change. I may write more one-off things, but I also am a hoe for long things so... ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Teller-Morrow was alight with celebration; a birthday, of none other than Clay Morrow.

Alex sat with Tammy and Lyla, each dressed up in a signature color. Lyla wore yellow, Tammy had red, while Alex... Well, look, black was a color. Sort of. She adjusted the dress, her nails painted with little galaxies that no one except Gemma and Lyla had noticed.

"I told Piper to stop eating his boogers, and I just -- he just won't stop," Lyla moaned, as if it were the worst thing she could imagine for her son.

"Steve is the same, it's feral," Tammy laughed, her hand tucked beneath her chin. She thumbed the wedding band, the one that had once belonged to Alex's grandmother.

Alex looked around the yard for Aaron, but he was no where in sight. The kuttes made it hard to spot people, unless they were like Bobby or Opie -- those two had a distinct silhouette, either round or tall. She looked back to her sister-in-law, a weak smile on her lips.

"You gonna be pickin' one soon?" Tammy nodded towards the men, a mix of hangers, prospects and patched members.

Even in the darkness, Alex felt her glare hit Tammy. The night sky above was blotted out but the minute city lights of Charming, though it crept towards two in the morning. Alex pushed up from the plastic lawn chair, cautious not to stumble into the barrel of fire. She could see the burnt magazines, some cardboard, and bottle caps.

Her main focus was to find somewhere to piss.

She had too-tall black heels on, a set she had 'borrowed' from Cara Cara before it'd burned down. No one had noticed, and no one had cared. She'd pinched a few things from the set, though nothing essential. The sex toys could stay, she had no fucking interest in sloppy seconds.

Or some of the shoes, the ones they used for scat or fetish shit.

Anyway.

Alex wobbled her way to the bathrooms, the indented cubicles all occupied. A soft whine of annoyance escaped her as she smacked with the flat of her palm. She ducked down, only a little, to see feet... Two sets. A low growl escaped her throat as she pushed away from the communal toilets, her walk now a waddle as she tried not to piss herself.

There were back rooms, right? The men had rooms... They wouldn't be mad. She pushed forward, her hands bunched at the bottom of her dress, the black satin held in place as she rushed down the hallway.

There were a few doors, but she pushed through to the back corner, as the furthest away one would be unoccupied. Or, that was the logic imbibed into her with the five beers. She was a cheap date, and she'd broken the seal. It was a simple procedure, in and out, though the out...

Shit.

The doorway held a silhouette, arm framed against the door as Alex stared back.

"Not really s'posed to be back here."

"I had to piss," Alex defended, her voice as apologetic as she could manage.

"Ladylike," Jax scoffed, the blonde hair haloed by the light from the hallway. He flicked the switch, his gaze set upon Alex. He stepped aside, his arm swung out as an invitation. "G'on, out."

Alex scoffed from low in her throat, her cheeks thudded red from embarrassment. She opened and closed her mouth, unsure what to say. Instead she made a beeline for the door, out into the hallway, her head dropped low as she sneaked back out to the party at large.

Or, she was going to, but her footsteps slowed. She hovered in the main lobby for the clubhouse, a mix of patched members and croweaters all sprawled across the couches. Some of the girls Alex recognized from work, some were just young girls with an appetite for the seedy...

Ah, her mother, tucked in the corner with Gemma and Clay, her ringed hand tucked beneath her chin.

And then there was a hand on her hip, warmth slammed through her core as much as alarm. She didn't need to turn to know who it was, not with the rings she could see upon the fingers. She shot a look sideways, though a beard and gentle breath hit her cheek.

"You forgot to flush."

Alex felt as if her heart might strangle her. "I fucking didn't, Jax -- "

Jax broke into laughter, a kiss pressed to her temple. "God, you're such an easy target darlin' -- " His hand skimmed her ass as he walked past her, a bottle of Daniels held offhand.

Alex ignored the weight of Gemme's gaze, which was made easier by the look her mother shot her. She exhaled through her nose, as she went out the door and back to her friends. They were still in conversation about their sons, about how to raise them and what to do about -- something.

It was hard to focus on momma lessons when you had your heart in your head. It wasn't out of attraction, not in the same way that Alex were used to. If she saw a man she wanted to fuck, she'd fuck them. Or, she'd ask, and it'd be a yes, and then they'd fuck.

But, that wasn't how shit went with Jax Teller.

Alex knew Tara, knew all about the ol' lady, and she knew that Jax had fucked Ima. Everyone knew, as Ima had blabbed it all over the place. Whether that was true or not was out of Alex's hands. She had been with the Sons for years now, tucked in the corner with a brother as a hanger and a mother who was out for ol' lady status.

And then there was Alex, who wasn't a slut but wasn't a prude, who wasn't mouthy but wasn't respectful.

She just... Existed. She helped the club when she could, and she worked with Lyla and Tammy. She'd worked within Cara Cara, and she'd worked with Luann.

But she didn't know what came next.

Kids?

Fuck.

What came next when all she had was a life within an MC, one from her youth and one from the present?

...

The jukebox had been stuck on the same song for half an hour, and Alex hadn't found it in herself to fix it. In truth, she wouldn't even know where to start. She'd smacked it a few times, but it kept on with the same track. She instead focused on her task, the slow cleanse of the party from the night before.

"Hey sweetheart, you wanna come out? Gettin' all waxed up and buffed out."

"My treat, Al," Gemma clutched her keys tighter, enough to make a garish grate of metal against metal. "You could use it."

"No, I gotta wait for Aaron, can't just -- " Alex gestured to the boys nearby, who had a GameBoy each. She ignored the comment of how she could 'use it'. It was just how Gemma spoke. "Leave 'em, with all this stuff."

"Ah, they'll be safe here," Francine cooed, her hands planted on her hips. "S'the clubhouse. Worst they'll do is stumble on some broken glass -- "

"That's bad mom," Alex scoffed.

"You grew up 'round your daddy's club, you turned out fine."

"I promised Tammy I'd make sure the boys got to Aaron," Alex defended, her fingers pushed through her hair. She resumed her work, the work that was supposed to be handled by the prospects. She had a broom in hand and a plastic bag in the other. She didn't want to even look in the bag.

"Honey, I appreciate the passion for housework, really, but leave it for the boys to deal with. It's their mess," Gemma exhaled, her large sunglasses back onto her face. She paused, a glance passed over Alex as the corners of her mouth curled up. "Actually, Franky, I think your baby girl is waiting for somebody. Better leave her to it."

Francine raised a brow to Gemma, though the smile shifted to match.

Alex felt the chill run through her as the pair laughed at a private joke, their manicured hair and nails matched like sisters. But they weren't, no, it was more like a sorority of ol' ladies. Clay and Piney, two of the Original Nine, and their attachés. She respected them both, but Piney wasn't ever going to be a father to Alex.

Not like Nathan had been.

"Well, if you're gonna play Mexican maid for the afternoon, you let Clay know I'll be back later," Gemma laughed. "And ah, say hi to my boy for me, too."

Gemma and Francine were gone with a flourish of waves and laughter. It was nice that they had each other at least, two ol' ladies who rose above the sweetbutts and croweaters.

Not that Alex minded. There was every chance that she'd end up like them, if she were lucky.

The Sons of Anarchy were no different to the Oakland Outsiders, the small-time club her father had been part of. Sure, they were larger, and their club were still together, but it was the same thing for Alex. There was an established pecking order, and an internal sense of law. You did what you were told, and you did it without a question.

The women listened to their men, whichever man had their dick in their pussy at the time. The men walked around with a width to their stance, and they slung drugs, or guns, or other shit, and she had to keep her mouth shut. The kutte gave her an idea of who to listen to and who to be nice to, but...

Shit, it was all the same, like a fun house mirror.

"Dad's gonna be here soon?"

"Yeah Tyler," Alex smiled at her nephew, her lips twitched into a smile. She continued to sweep up the plastic cups into the garbage bag, her hair pushed back into a loose ponytail.

Alex wasn't sure what had started first, her mother's affection for Piney or her brother's status as a prospect. It had been a clean break from up north, as the Oakland Outsiders had been absorbed by the Sons of Anarchy. They had been brother clubs, associated, though the Outsiders focused on intel and drugs.

The Sons? Fuck, this place was terrifying, and Alex didn't have a clue what it was they dealt. Weapons, maybe. No one had told her. With the Outsiders, she'd had her daddy as the president, a man in charge, a man who valued her, and taught her all he knew. It was a shame he hadn't known how the fuck to stay alive.

"Mom?"

"Working," Alex sighed, her hand brushed over Steve's shaved head. He'd developed an attachment to Happy's hairstyle, or lack thereof. Tammy didn't really care, so long as his haircut didn't make him look like a 'pussy'. Alex thumbed the peach fuzz with her cleaner hand. She snatched their empty glasses, which had held too much cola and not enough water.

But fuck, they were like their damn dad. No love for healthy things.

The song continued to loop, something by Toadies, maybe, but Alex had blocked it out. She was on her hands and knees with a dustpan, as she sought out all the rogue bottle caps. As she reached back, beneath the corner table, her eyes fell onto her wrist.

Her eyes narrowed at the names tattooed in tiny lines around her wrist. She thumbed them, Spencer, Dwight, Carl...

It'd been five years, shit, it shouldn't hurt anymore. Not the tattoo, fuck no, the names.

Brothers, not in blood but family all the same. Her thumb lingered on Nathan, the larger of the names.

They're in Charming now. No more Oakland. No more Outsiders.

This is your family now.

Hopefully.

The roar of the bikes began, distant but familiar. Not the same bikes she had been used to, all those years ago, but close enough. She shoved at the leather bracelet on her wrist, though the tattoo remained in sight. It was for her sake. Some days it helped to have those names there, to remind her of who she had lost, but others -- it was just that, loss. The bar was cleaner at least, no more empty bottles or old coasters.

Alex didn't know if she was allowed to clean, but what the fuck ever. She'd done it. She tossed aside a few garbage bags, tucked behind the bar in the corner. She hung by the boys, her hip against the post that separated the entrance from the tables.

She ignored the stripper pole and the mismatched chairs, her expression wilted as she watched the march of kuttes. It was a bad day, for reasons Alex hadn't managed to place. Her fingers worked against the leather cuff, her fingers curled and tucked beneath the bracelet as a nervous tick.

The SAMCRO men pushed into the bar with spread across the tables, the tiles, no corner spared the scent of their ride. Clay demanded the attention, not the largest man, but the President patch did that. There were several clingers in the corners, a mix of croweaters who'd yet to leave from the party the night before and several hangers who were smart enough to keep quiet.

But the smell; it's blood, sweat and the scent of kuttes, set off by the sun.

Maybe the blood was only in Alex's mind.

But why the fuck else would the MC be out before sunrise, and back by midday?

Alex saw Aaron bring up the rear. He was in a discussion with Juice, their heads bowed as their hands moved. Aaron had been in contact with Juice since before their family had moved here, as part of the intel line between the docks at San Francisco and the Sons.

But Alex didn't "know" that.

While Francine had Piney and Aaron had Tammy, Alex hadn't...

Alex couldn't dive into the culture with the same enthusiasm as her mother or brother. Not with the sly grins and snuffs of amusement whenever she smiled at a member. As the SAMCRO squad settled into the nooks of the clubhouse, Alex stepped towards the table again.

No one acknowledged her, or the cleaner bar, but that was the lay of it. She hadn't done it for the recognition, she told herself. She just had time to kill before Aaron had come for the boys.

The boys, Tyler and Steve, had begun to pack up their things. They were about to go off towards Aaron, but he looked busy -- instead, Alex tucked her hands beneath their armpits to keep them in line. They remained, raised to understand that while they were at the club, they had to mind their manners.

It didn't stop them from their idol worship, or how they stared up at Opie and Jax as the men approached. Their jaws were propped wide open and their eyes were wide -- but they stifled down their awe with stern little frowns, their little arms yanked out from Alex's grasp.

Alex felt a prickle in her chest as Jax approached, wide palm squahsed against Tyler's face. He was the shorter of the two, younger, and shyer.

"Didn't know you were a mom," he shot a look my way, head to toe, then back to my eyes.

"Shut up," I had to bite my cheek to fight back a smile. "Babysitting, s'all."

"Yeah?" Jax looked across the boys, his smile split wider. "Alex got you whipped, boys?"

"Their daddy is busy," Alex defended.

"Their dad's jerkin' it with Juice, ain't much shit he got to be busy with -- " Jax jerked his head, as if to give them permission. The boys broke in unison, pleased giggles drawn out as the men approached.

"Fine, go," Alex dismissed, her hands dropped from the boys' underarms. She watched them stalk off towards their dad, a look of annoyance shot back at her. It was better to be sure they wouldn't overhead club shit, because kids -- they didn't need to know. "Lyla got Tammy th'job -- they both went. Couple of other girls."

Jax jerked his head, his elbow slung out to smack Opie on the side.

"Girls got work," she repeated, her head tipped to one side as Opie refused to meet her eye.

There was a distinct drop in his expression, though his posture remained the same. He worked the muscles in his face around a sneer, as it became a half-hearted smile. It was tenous, the step-sibling vibes were enough to make things awkward. Alex didn't know Opie well, though she knew Lyla, and Tammy...

"You didn't go with 'em?" Jax asked, eyes narrowed at Alex.

Right.

Alex took a breath, only to exhale through her nose. "Nah," Alex shook her head, mouth pinched together as she looked at the ground. "Got a few more shifts at the ah, y'know the home wares place? Has all those fancy candles? On Main?"

"I know it, yeah." Jax let out a laugh, though he bit back the worst of it. "Kinda grew up here, in Charming. Not a big town."

"Yeah, just... I dunno, it's not -- for me, right now," Alex dismissed, her hands wound together into the loops of her jeans. "I don't hate it, I just don't think -- "

Jax laughed again, his mouth hidden behind his hand as he tried to keep himself together. "You don't like sex? Th'fuck were you doing porn for?" He tounged his lips apart, his arms crossed.

"I'm good at it, porn, I just, don't... Just, fuck off Jax, stop making faces," Alex broke, her face red and her eyes narrowed. No matter how she spoke, his expression contorted, as if he were out to make it worse for her. "You don't get it."

"Guess I don't, no." He shook his head, posture slackened as he stepped away from Alex. His attention skipped over her again, head to toe, only for him to walk off towards the bar.

Alex snatched up her bag and headed for the door, at least glad to be rid of her nephews for the afternoon.

She shouldn't have told him to fuck off, but she had.

Fuck it.

...

Alex had little in the way of marketable skills. Aside from amateur porn and some tech experience, she could work retail or at a diner. She opted for the former, as the smell of deep fryers had gotten old fast. Even at the homeware store she'd shacked up in, she found herself cleaning.

All she ever did was clean up after other people.

There had been a sale on Friday, yesterday, and all the shelves were messed up, and there was dirt tracked in and...

And there was a kutte in her store. Well, the store she was in charge of until five.

"After something?"

The blonde mop of hair shifted, Sons racks splayed across a broad expanse of leather. As if he were surprised, Jax mocked an 'oh' as he turned.

"Shit, you work here?"

Alex tipped her head from side to side as she spat out a laugh.

"You mentioned you're working here and, dunno -- " He tongued apart his lips, his hands buried in the pockets of his jeans. "Figured I needed some homewares."

Alex hissed through her teeth, her hands mixed up in the fabric of her apron.

"Boys're gettin' a haircut," he nodded towards the street. "Wanted to check in. Kinda left on a, ah... A fuckin' shitty note."

Alex softened, her shoulders relaxed and her arms were hugged to her chest. "I shouldn't have told you to fuck off. You just..."

"You're a porn star who gets her thong in a fucking knot over a few jokes. Might wanna look into that."

"I don't give a fuck if people make jokes," Alex cut back, teeth bared. "It's when people think I'm the joke. Talking shit on me, on what I do -- "

"I didn't talk shit on what you do." Jax held up a hand, brows furrowed as he waved off her words. "Hell, I don't give a fuck what you do for work Alex, s'how you act, how you treat people. Right now, you'd be smart to show a little respect -- might go a long way."

Alex felt the cold run of her blood through her veins, the voice no longer playful as Jax angled himself as the alpha. She'd heard the tone before, she knew what it meant, dominance, expected submission, and she felt herself melt into the position she'd been in for years.

It was so easy to see from the outside, how she could tell him to beat it, to leave, but she can't.

"I don't wanna do that shit anymore Jax. I don't know what I want, but I don't... I can't keep pullin' the big fucking eyes, acting like some asshole's come in my fucking eye is a thrill. Y'know? Shit gets -- it gets hollow. Maybe not for other girls, but it sure as fuck is for me."

Jax's asserted stance shifted, enough for Alex to meet his eye. "You don't gotta do it."

Alex let out a laugh, huffed between chattered teeth. "I'm not here to be some sob story, yeah?" She met his eye, a smile on her lips. "I take the jobs when I wanna, or I got this job. I'm great, Jax. Just -- great."

Jax pursed his lips, his head shook as he looked down at his fingers. He toyed with the kutte, fingers picked at the hems, to smooth back the exposed edges. He lifted a hand to rub at his mouth, his weight shifted forward as he approached Alex.

"Came here t'talk to you, not argue."

Alex wilted, attention dropped to the floor. She fidgeted with her bracelet again, fingers dug into the leather. She felt the warmth of his hand tuck beneath her jaw, palm flat, thumb against the corner of her lips. She looked up, her eyes too wide and her lips parted.

"You give a fuck?"

"'Bout?"

Alex met his eye, blue, hazel, green, some light mix of the three. She sighed through her nose, head tipped back as she looked up at Jax. She didn't need this, this intimacy, his breath warm on her face as he inspected her face.

"Bout anything?"

"I give a fuck about a lot of things, sweetheart." Jax shurgged a shoulder, lips cracked apart to spread a smile. "You doin' porn, hell, doesn't mean much to me."

Alex was unsure what she'd even meant by her question. She didn't like Jax, but she didn't much like anyone. She didn't even like herself some days, more for the life she'd fallen into within Charming. Nothing felt within her control anymore, not her bills, her debts, her family, none of it.

His nose nudged hers, the slow creep from close to intertwined. Their lips met, slow and lazy, no fire, no demand, just... Together. She screwed up her expression, too wound up from the words in her head and the sensation of Jax against her. She settled her hand over his and planted the other against his chest.

"Working here," she mumbled, to back away from the man before her. The kiss was warm and welcome, but held the same bite as a shot of whiskey. She could taste the cigarettes on his breath and the stubble had set off the flesh of her lips and cheek. She rubbed at her mouth with the back of her hand, cautious of the lip gloss that clung there.

Jax didn't seem to mind much. He just shrugged his shoulders, his tongue ran the length of his bottom lip in pursuit of the gloss. His head dipped a fraction to hide whatever it was he held on his face. He scratched at the back of his scalp, his free hand tucked into the pocket of his jeans. He didn't speak further, just scoffed, to back off and away.

Alex watched as the Sons rack vanished, black leather and blue jeans lost to the sidewalk of Charming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( Relationship clarification, in case it's confusing. Alex, Tammy, Francine, Aaron, Steve and Tyler are all OCs. The Oakland Outsiders were envisioned as a very small scale MC, maybe one charter, two at most, who were wiped out in conflicts with the Mayans. The Sons absorbed the remaining members, though they got spread across California. Aaron got brought in as a hanger, and gradually became a prospect.
> 
> Francine was Nathan’s ol’ lady, similar to Gemma and JT in dynamic. I picture Francine after status more than affection with Piney, and Opie and her kids aren’t close. Not in a sibling sense. I picture these characters as background peripherals until S3, when the Sons started to posture before Belfast.
> 
> Tara is still in the picture for Jax, though I see it as more ‘Jax trying to use girls around the club as a way to distance himself from Tara’. Alex isn’t against fucking or one night stands, but she just isn’t out to rock the boat for someone who’s friends with her friends? It’s a big mess, and she doesn’t even know what she wants, and neither does Jax. Such is life. )


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Violence, racism, sexual themes, y’know, things you’d see in the usual show. The story is told from the biased perspective of Alex, so please understand that how she views events and interactions does not equate to mun’s opinion.

The kiss...

No.

Alex had been a teenager, years ago, and she'd gotten past it. A kiss meant about as much as a handshake in her world. She had kissed Tig, Bobby, Juice... Not deep kisses, nothing dire, only a peck, but she had done it. Jax had kissed her, or she had kissed Jax, but it left her in no different. She thumbed her bottom lip, legs tucked up against her as she watched the reruns of Futurama.

It was late, not late enough for bed, but dark. She had devored a box of takeout Chinese, though half of it was left in the fridge.

What a glamorous life.

There was nothing on at the SAMCRO clubhouse, not that she was aware of. And for a Saturday night, she wasn't in demand. Sure, there were bars, some nice, some awful, but... She thumbed her wrist, the same series of names intertwined around her pulse. She dug her thumbnail into the name Nathan, absent-minded and aimless.

She could have gone to Tammy to see if there were any shoots on, or she could have asked her mom what her plans were.

Alex let her head drop back against the couch, chin angled towards the ceiling and her thumb dug into her flesh.

She was only defined by what others wanted of her.

But where did that leave her with Jax today?

* * *

 

It had come out of no where. He'd made light of her work before, and he'd made the same jokes with every other girl from Cara Cara. She felt no more special for his attention than she did for the other boys in the Sons. They were a mass, a hivemind of debauchery, and she stuck by them. She wasn't an old lady, but she had more devotion than a croweater. She missed Candy, whatever her name had been.

They were on the same page with this shit.

Lyla didn't have an issue. She'd fallen onto Opie's dick and the big guy had latched on. That was fine. It wasn't like Alex would begrudge Lyla the happiness with Opie, but it felt unfair. Fuck, yeah, that was jealousy, but goddamn. Alex didn't want to hopstotch from dick to dick, to see where she ended up. She scrubbed a hand down her face, her cheeks red beneath her touch.

She'd fucked Happy, once, and she'd given Tig a blowjob. She wasn't faultless, and she wasn't above the nuances of the club. But she still didn't know what the fuck the Vice President was up to, at her work, with a kiss too sweet to be meant for her. It hadn't been desperate or demanding or even drunk. It had been in the afternoon on a Saturday, like he was off to work and she was left behind.

It felt like she was an old lady, but she wasn't.

Alex switched the channel, her thumbnail caught between her teeth as she watched the screen. Her nails had outgrown the laquer, a good quarter of an inch of her natural nail peaked above her nailbed. She winced at the sight, her eyebrows narrowed. It was late, sure, but... Not that late, right?

She kicked her legs out from against her, to hike up her jeans and tug on her boots. There were late night salons, plenty of places she could go to get them fixed. Gemma would notice, and Gemma would make a fuss. Not even to mention Francine, who'd drag her by her hair to the nearest Asian woman, salon or not.

Alex huffed through her nose, her hands pressed against her face.

She tried not to think about how Jax had caught her in his room, and how easy it'd have been to sidle up to him. She tried not to think about how he'd skimmed her ass, and whispered into her ear. Forget what he said, and the tone of the whole encounter. That was the beauty of memories, she could warp them til they served her needs. Hell, in porn? You need a hell of an imagination.

And you need to be able to act, at least a little.

* * *

 

"Color? This nice, this one, see."

"Mh, but, orange?"

"Very flashy."

"No, not -- no, I'm looking for something kinda..." Alex flicked through the color charts, the little laquered tiles matched to her skin. She hemmed and hawed about a few different shades of red before she settled on black. The woman before her offered a few rapid, sweet words, though the weariness had hit. It was almost seven, and the evening was no cooler. With the overhead lamps, hell, you couldn't tell what time it was.

There was no one else in the salon, save the staff. Two young women hung at the front, in talks while they blew smoke out the front door. Mexican, Alex noted, tattoos... She shifted in her seat, her lips pursed together. It wasn't a race thing, not on her part. She just knew the Sons, and knew enough to be wary of others.

Shit, it sounded bad. Alex felt the ripple of distaste run from her scalp to her toes.

But with the Caleveras and the Mayans? And those were only recent players, the ones that the Sons had been focused on.

Not that it was her business, but it was. They were her boys, even if she wasn't their girl.

The hum of a drill took to her nails as she watched the laquer fly away. She did her best to remain still, eyes unfocused as she listened to the tinny radio. There were no sounds outside, no cars, nothing much aside from the foreign chatter between the girls by the door and from the woman before her. There was staff, sure, but they were in the midst of cleanup.

Except then there was broken glass, bullets, and all Alex could do was hit the floor. She watched as the salon split open, a series of kuttes burst from the back of the store.

The women who'd been sweeping hollered and split, some in hysterics, though two had ducked only to surface with shotguns.

Alex scrabbled sideways, tucked beneath a vanity, the shattered mirror enough to distract from the pain in her nail.

Fuck, they'd dug the drill into her finger.

Could be worse --

"They got it!"

"Get them"

"No, fuck -- fuck!"

Footsteps smacked through the salon, broken glass even more ground up. The mirror Alex had ducked onto had dug into her knee, and her hands were powered with cuts and blood. She nursed her hand within her grasp, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she watched the standoff. The girls by the door held their ground, a handgun each, their teeth bared.

It was Bobby, Juice... Opie, Chibbs. So the boys were getting their hair done, huh? That's what Jax had said.

Alex remained watched with wide eyes, her bottom lip split from the nip of her teeth. She could see three other men from the back of the salon, handguns held aloft, Calaveras, maybe. She remained still, feigned unawareness, as if that could buy her time. She felt the beat of her heart in her head, her eyes blown wide from fear.

The predicament became no clearer to Alex, as to why the Sons were at a salon, or why the place was armed?

"Put your guns down!"

Bobby looked to Chibbs, who tipped his head. The four men dipped in unison, slow pace, gentle as they let their lead hit the tiles. One of the girls by the door started forward, to kick the guns aside. Alex watched them with alarm, the urge to snatch one up too strong. She withheld, the blood too fast within her head.

"We were just here to talk -- " Chibbs began, only to be silence by a click of the safety. "Still is."

"Talk? You tear my business apart, and you wanna talk?"

Opie scoffed, low, a sound born from behind clenched teeth. "Hair salon?"

A warning shot, sent by Opie's feet. The whole salon tensed over again, the man who'd fired a wideset man with little hair. Alex found it in herself to focus now, her eyes fixed between the exchange and guns on the floor. The weapons had been kicked far from the Sons, but closer to her. She nursed her hand, the one that was bleeding the worst. She couldn't feint for one, she'd be dead.

Not now. Fuck, not now.

The shorter girl, one with a little black bob and a sizeable handgun, dipped closer to the men at the back of the store. The larger man, the one who'd spoken, leaned into her though his attention didn't leave the Sons. It was a short exchange, little words, nothing in English. He spat at the floor, blood hit the tiles, the clatter of a tooth.

"Get out."

Though the Sons were offered an exit, there was no movement on their part. Not unless you counted how their eyes trailed just beyond the Calaveras, to the subtle shift of the curtain.

A shot, and another, two of the Calaveras men fell. Their skulls burst forward, exit wounds enough to obscure any pain on their faces.

Alex took her chance as did Chibbs, the pair of you snatched at the abandoned guns. The remaining Calaveras and his girls had ducked, turned, and that was enough of an opening. Shit, Alex felt her stomach turn, but she'd done this before, she'd do it if she had to, she didn't know what the fuck was happening, but there were guns, and she needed one. Another round spat from the back of the salon, a solid hit on the presumed salon owner. It took his shoulder, which sent a round off towards the front window.

The shot was too wide to be lethal to anyone inside, but -- fuck, Opie was on the floor, bloody, but -- okay? God.

While the Sons focused on the men, they were too fucking noble to hit the women. Alex took a shot at one of the women, peripheral, a foot, nothing lethal. She bit into her inner cheek as the woman screamed, her friend went after her. They both held onto their weapons, though they had no one in their sights.

"Drop your fucking guns," she pointed it outwards, towards the women who'd dropped their own guns.

It's a fucking mess, and Alex could feel the wedge of broken mirror and glass into her palm. She kept her aim steady, the gun pointed towards the women as the Sons took the remaining Calaveras man. The grip slipped within her grasp, the blood slick and warm along her palm. It hadn't been her place, fuck, it hadn't, but instincts were instincts. She'd done this before, years ago, and she'd held back.

She thought about that too often.

A round spun out, at each of the women. She grit her teeth, eyes narrowed at the way they shivered. Neither shot had hit; had she wanted to hit them?

Fucked if she knew. The adrenaline was too thick for her to know what she wanted, except for everything to stop, and to be safe, please, let her be safe, let her boys be safe --

And then there was a hand on her wrist, warm and gentle though bloodied.

"C'mon -- "

The girls were knocked out, maybe, they weren't moving, they were down, fuck, had she hit them? Fuck.

Shit, the back curtain, the shots. There was a growl, close to her name, her safety beneath the vanity void as she'd scrabbled out from beneath it. She was knelt in debris, her jeans enough to catch the brunt of it. The hand kept a firm grip on her, wrapped around her leather cuff.

Alex was yanked to her feet, Jax by her side as Opie and Juice corralled their Calaveras captive.

"I didn't mean to -- "

"Don't, just," Jax had his hand fixed tight around her wrist, an unkind grip but no real hurt. She was too high on adrenaline, but she'd no doubt see the bruises tomorrow. "Cops're comin'."

"I drove." Alex barked. "Do you need a way to get him back to the clubhouse?"

Jax stopped in his tracks, eyes wild as he looked Alex over. "You don't fucking talk, okay? You just -- no."

Alex wilted, turned inwards as she felt herself pulled along to the back entrance. She wasn't hurt, and there was no fear in her. Not really. If she was a witness, and they wanted her dead? She'd be dead. She didn't know what had happened to the women left in the salon, all she knew was that Jax had her and she'd overstepped.

This wasn't the Outsiders; she wasn't a member then, and she wasn't now.

Fuck, it hurt. The blood, the stab to her pride, all of it.

She'd tried to help.

Jax's squared shoulders were all Alex could see, the decorative beads and hair products slowly turned to concrete and boxes. And then she saw the back door, the one that must go to the alleyway behind the business. There were the Sons, a plain black van tucked outside. There were no bikes, too loud, or they might've parked a ways away. She would have heard them coming if they'd rode their bikes, though.

Instead she felt hands take to her cheeks, leather gloves framed her cheeks. She blinked up at Jax, lips parted and her eyes still too wide. He pried the gun from her hand, a cloth dragged across it. He popped out the ammo and drew back, only to lob it onto the roof. There was a ding, ding, smack as it hit something, snagged, and Alex felt herself laugh.

Jax snorted, only to shift her into the van. By her feet was the unconcious Calaveras man, and the Sons. In the front was Tig, who looked... Fuck, confused didn't capture it.

The van took off, a slow pace. The distant wail of sirens began, and all Alex could do was stare at her knees.

"The fuck happened? Hostages? Kidnapping? What the fuck is this -- "

"Don't," Jax spat, slumped against the wall of the van. Bobby had a cigarette, while Chibbs was in the process of binding the man they'd brought with them. "Civilian."

"Fucking -- her? Tch," Tig scoffed, though he didn't argue.

Opie kept his furtive glances at Alex as subtle as he could muster. He shifted to help Chibbs with the Calaveras man, a smack of his gun against the man's head. The drive remained silent, even as Alex wanted to question the men. She couldn't, she knew she couldn't, but it didn't stop the ache for knowledge. As the van stopped, she saw the Teller-Morrow sign. While the men took off for the clubhouse, Opie split off to keep by Alex's side.

"Hey -- you, you're uh, I'm..." He gestured to her hands. "Tara's gonna be here soon."

"Shit, didn't you get shot?"

"Went through," Opie mumbled, lip sneered.

Alex walked with ginger steps towards the clubhouse, her hands held outwards as she felt the pain begin to throb through her. The drive had been a blur, as had the salon, but here in the clubhouse... Shit felt crystal clear. She had shot those women; she'd killed two women, hadn't she? They'd been on the ground, blood, God, so much blood. That meant four dead bodies, four people they'd have to explain away.

Opie took a seat at the bar, one hand after the vodka. He took a slug, to offer Alex one.

"I'm so sorry."

"Didn't know you were there," he frowned.

"I mean, same to you," Alex scoffed. "Was getting my nails done..." She held out a hand, where one nail had been bitten into by the drill. There was too much blood to make out much of anything. She turned her hand to examine the fragments of glass that protruded, a look of mild awe. "Fuck me."

"Yeah, just, don't look at it."

Alex remained with Opie, a cloth clutched between her palms and against her knees. She'd left the pieces all in place despite the urge to pry them out. It was better to leave them in, and Tara could fix it up when she got here.

Oh, fuck, Tara.

Alex hadn't seen Tara, not since -- shit, Ima? Fuck.

"Um, is..." Alex felt her voice crackle. "Is Tara cool with us?"

Opie shrugged. "Cool enough t'come help stitch us up, so uh -- you hear about Ima?"

"About Ima, from Ima," Alex snorted. "Think she's gonna print the wedding invitations for her and Jax pretty soon."

Opie rolled his tongue against his cheek, his shoulder shrugged. "Feel like Tara might have something to say about that -- " The door to the bar cracked open, as heeled boots clacked against the floor. The familiar, too pretty doctor strode in. She felt her chest pang, to match her open wounds. Tara had Jax by her side, his hand at her hip, his gaze dark. She looked at the mess across her hands, her arms, her clothes, her head dropped low as she waited for the work to begin.

Church was due, so Opie was stitched up in no time. He'd pointed to the bar, emphatic enough to tell Alex that she had to stay put. Once she nodded in return, he left, his kutte shrugged back on. The bullet had been on the outside of his upper arm, through nothing but fat and muscle. He moved with enough conviction that Alex wouldn't have guessed he'd just been shot.

And then there was her, as she shook from pain and adrenaline. Alex had been given pain killers, gulped down dry as she waited for the worst to begin. That didn't stop the hurt, not completely. It just made it easier to cope with.

It was cosmic revenge, that had to be it.

She'd kissed an old lady's man, and she'd get her due punishment.

"You uh -- " Tara approached, her head tipped. "Didn't know they'd picked up a stray. Sorry, I um, I'm Tara."

"We've met," Alex interjected. "Um, I'm a friend of Lyla's, Tammy's... I've been at parties here. Yeah?"

Tara made a sound of frustration, more at herself than at Alex. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry, it's... Yeah, I remember. You took Abel for a little while there, just, to mind him." She offered another smile, though this one was quintessential bedside manner.

"So," Alex held out her hands, palms upwards. "I'm kinda shredded up."

Tara exhaled, a little half-smile. "I didn't mean to call you a stray. That was -- bad joke."

Alex wanted to point out that it'd been her old man to pick up the 'stray', but it was as Tara had said; a bad joke. She wished she'd just been left at the scene of the crime. She'd be better off with the cops, in tears, full of lies. She could make them believe her. She could act.

Like now, how she kept her cool despite the woman who was in the midst of reverse-acupuncture.

It took the better part of an hour to see to all the bits and pieces, her jeans now cut off at the knees and her clothes bloodied. She hand bandages on her palms, her knees, her elbows, though it wouldn't be needed for long. She felt like a half-baked mummy, the pain killers enough to kill off the ache. The sutures were expert, and she appreciated Tara's help. The woman was good at her craft, and despite the few shitty jokes?

It'd been okay.

"Well, look, I know, church..." Tara shot a look sideways, her lip sneered. "Did you want a lift home?"

"No, I gotta talk to them before I go. To um, make sure I saw what I saw."

"Ah." Tara gave a tight-lipped smile, a nod that followed. "I didn't see a thing." She offered a wink, her kit packed up. She paused, her hands flat against the bag. She looked to the door that led to church, and to Alex. "Um... Can I ask you something?"

Alex feigned innocence, as if she hadn't a clue about what Tara had to say.

"I know, Jax and uh -- Ima, but..." She tongued her lips apart, pain in her eyes. "It was only her, right?"

Alex shrugged, unsure. "I don't have a clue. I haven't fucked him," she answered, sincere, a glance cast around the bar. "You shouldn't be asking that shit either."

Tara melted back, hurt in her expression. "I have a right to know."

"Honey, if you're his old lady, you're fucking blessed if all he did was fuck Ima once," Alex frowned. "Not to rude or whatever, but any man in a club like this, he's gonna fuck girls if he's gonna fuck girls. S'what they do."

Tara worried her thumb against her fingers, her kit slung over her shoulder. She let her attention drop to the bar, to look back to Alex. "What they do, huh?"

Alex shrugged her shoulder, a wince as she waved her hand. "My dad cheated on my mom, my brother probably cheats on Tammy, fuck -- I don't know. I'm no one's old lady, I haven't ever thought much on it." She shifted herself back onto her feet, her head tipped to the side. "You make them dinner when they come home to you and feel fucking lucky they come home at all. You put out when you wanna, when they wanna, -- s'the life, doc."

"I know," Tara spoke, her voice hollow. She opened her mouth, as if to speak further, but shook her head instead. She shrugged the strap of her bag higher, her head dipped down. "See a doctor in a week, tell 'em your usual doctor is out of town." She straightened up, no prouder for the height. She headed for the exit, even as the church doors swung open. The men all piled out of the meeting room, and Alex tried not to notice how Jax watched after Tara.

Or, fuck, how he started after her.

But then he stopped. He stilled, his attention on the exit, and then it was on Alex.

Clay and Tig splintered off towards the garage, followed by Happy and Chibbs. Juice split towards the bar with Bobby and Piney. Opie was on a cellphone, a hand cupped around the mouthpiece.

Which left Jax, on the approach.

There was warmth and a pair of lips tucked against her temple. The arms around her were welcomed, though she wasn't sure what she'd done to deserve the affection. She wormed her arms beneath his kutte, her fingers mixed into the fabric. She enjoyed the quiet moment, where Jax held her close, his nose buried in her hair, his lips against her scalp.

"Sorry, 'bout grabbing you -- " He broke back, enough to examine her wrists. Both her wrists bore the bruises from his grip, as did her upper arms. She wriggled her arms free of his grasp, uncomfortable with the scrutiny on her tattoos. Not that he had noticed them, not with how focused he'd been on her bruises.

"I get it."

Jax had his arm around her shoulders, as he guided her towards his dorm. She followed without question, though anxious energy spiked inside her. She had behaved, she'd stuck around... Had she seen too much? Fuck.

"I'm not gonna say anything, to the cops, or -- "

"Shut the fuck up," Jax dismissed, a laugh in his tone. "We got shit to settle with the guy, and uh... We know you, Alex. We know your mom, your brother..."

"I'm not a rat," Alex defended.

"Good."

"Fuck, Jax, I swear to God," Alex babbled, tears bubbled at the corners of her eyes. She felt the heat wash down her cheeks, as all the silence and her time with Tara warped. She thought that the Sons knew her, knew her loyalty... She wasn't here to be a threat. "I'm good, I'm gonna be good, I won't say a damn thing."

Jax's hand settled across her mouth, rings clacked against her teeth. He kept her in place, a far gentler touch, his arm fixed around her. His dorm was cleaner, at least, all the clothes were out to be washed. Or, folded away. His hand fell away, to thumb her chin as he spun to shut the door. "Take a seat."

"I don't..."

"We gotta talk," he began, simple words enough to inspire fear in her. He nodded towards the bed, while he took a seat against a dresser.

Alex sat, her wounded hands rested upon her lap. She watched him with worried eyes, her bottom lip stuck out.

"You were gettin' your nails done?"

"Yeah," Alex nodded. "I went to the closest place."

Jax sighed through his nose, brow creased. If he didn't buy her story... What the fuck could Alex do? It was the truth.

"I don't know why you were there," Alex added, her voice too soft. "I really... I really don't know. Not even a little."

Jax's posture shifted, a soft roll of his shoulders as he crossed his arms. He scrutinzed her, eyes narrowed at her as he waited for the truth. "Kinda huge coincidence. Plenty of salons in Charming. You happen t'be there... You pick up a damn gun."

"To help you."

"We had it covered." Jax shot back, acidic in his tone.

"It's gonna be bad though, Jax. S'four bodies."

Jax's lips twitched, as if he wanted to smile but couldn't. It was a strange sight for him, as he smiled so easily and with such conviction. "Far as the witnesses saw, the Calaveras had the Sons at gunpoint. No one saw me in the back, takin' 'em out. S'gonna look back on us, yeah, but hell -- the Calaveras can't afford t'have the cops on that place for long. Girls there aren't gonna say shit. It's gonna be retaliation, straight from them." He rubbed his fingers against the stubble of his chin. "S'definitely gonna come back at you."

"I'm sorry, okay?" Alex felt her stomach rumble with anxious nerves, her brows furrowed. "I shouldn't have jumped in. I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, you should be," Jax bit back, teeth bared. "I know, you used to help with intel, you, your brother -- hell, your dad, he was with the Outsiders, -- "

"Nathan Taurins was the fucking president," Alex arced up. She didn't give a fuck if he wanted to smack her down for it, his title mattered.

"I know," Jax rolled his jaw in circles, as he examined her. "But that's small town shit, and that's -- Alex, he's dead. They're all dead. Probably 'cause of stupid fucking choices like that. You didn't have to jump in."

"None of you were dealing with those women -- "

"Alex," Jax exhaled, a deadly smile on his lips. "Are you questioning me? 'Bout how we operate? You really wanna go down that path, darlin'? Think you're that fucking on top of things, that you can sit here and tell me how to run shit?" The laughter in his words was more of a threat than the words. Alex shrunk back, though she seethed all the same. "I respected your dad, I did. But you're here, with the Sons, so you better start showing that same respect."

"It's all money, right? Drugs, or women, or guns... Comes back money." Alex simmered down, her heartbeat too quick within her head. It hurt, to be scolded and to be lectured, but he had a point. She had acted out of turn, and she didn't have a place in club politics. From the lack of response, good or bad, she had her answer. It wasn't hard to pick apart a club's intent. It all came back to how they could have more than others.

Fine, Alex could get behind that.

The tension lifted, at least as Jax settled closer. He approached, to stand between her knees. She adjusted, a half-hearted look of confusion as he ran a palm along her cheek. He thumbed the apple of her cheek, her bottom lip, his attention focused just beyond her. She matched him, mechanical in her response, aware enough to pick up the signals.

"I wanna know about Tara and you?"

"Do you?"

Alex felt bile rise and settle, her brow furrowed. She caught his thumb between her lips, to press a kiss to the pad of the digit. He pushed it past her teeth, the clack of his ring against her teeth in a far more agreeable way. She tongued the base of his thumb, eye contact settled as he growled out a response.

Even with the wounded palms and achey knees, Alex could feel a whole new ache form. She squirmed on the spot, her jeans already in disrepair.

Jax caught her behind her knees, his hand freed of her face. His tongue replaced his thumb, a kiss mixed into the growl of annoyance as his cock pressed against her core. There was too much clothing between them for Alex's liking, but -- God, this is a bad idea.

The teeth at her split lip only drew forth blood, a hiss of pain as she pulled away from the kiss. Jax shoved her upwards, her head pressed into the pillows at the head of the bed. She fought with his belt, though her bandages made it impossible. He shoved her hands away, a smirk where he'd had a frown only moments ago.

"You really wanna fuck me, Teller?"

"No shit," Jax scoffed back, his nose nudged against Alex's. He nipped a path between her earlobe and her collarbone, all as his hands fought with her jeans. They caught at the bandages, and her whine of pain had been enough to stop him. "You good?"

"Yeah -- fuck yes, I -- just..."

Jax's kutte hit the floor, the smack of his harness and guns against glass. "Keep still, hey?" He snatched out his knife from his belt, a brow cocked at Alex.

Alex sucked in a breath as Jax sliced open the tops of her jeans. Hell, they'd been totalled from all the shit at the salon, she was gonna get rid of them anyway. Her panties followed, though those were torn off without the knife... Where'd that even go? She looked to the bedside table, a glass, some condom wrappers, and -- yeah, knife.

Good.

Except then there was a hand on her inner thigh, as Jax dragged his hand along the soft flesh. He dug his nails in, only a fraction, enough to draw a hiss from Alex. She matched it with a coo of approval, her hands bunched against her chest as she tried to protect her cuts.

"Don't make me pop a suture."

"Fuck, yeah," he laughed, his eyes unfocused as he looked to her bandages. He stopped, his hand against her inner thigh, his belt ditched, his jeans popped open. He was dressed, more or less, but without his kutte he may as well be naked. He stopped altogether, rocked back on his heels as his hands rested on Alex's inner knees. He scrunched his mouth together, a darkness across his eyes as he stared straight at her. "You want this?"

"Yeah, I do, but, I'm kinda..." She held her hands aloft. "Go easy? When I'm not all fucked up, you can give me the Teller special, or whatever the fuck you call it."

Jax dipped down, his lips against her inner knee. The scruff of his beard tickled her skin, his eyes focused up at her. As he progressed lower, slower, his eyes remained upwards. She took it upon herself to yank off her shirt, a cheap piece she had a dozen of... Work shit. She tossed it aside, the black fabric crusted with blood and pus.

His hand took to her thigh, to push it apart, gentle despite the strength. She'd felt it earlier, and at the salon. He made an effort, and she could appreciate that. It was soft, the press of kisses along her skin, even against her core. It was a test, to see how much she'd move or wriggle. She kept still, impassive, a challenge issued through her silence. She could see his smirk, even while his lips were pressed against her pussy.

What an asshole.

And then his tongue spread her apart, his thumb tugged her lips apart, and she knew it'd be a problem. She rolled down against him, her mouth agape as she kept her arms folded against her chest. She moaned out a prayer, for him to hurry up, for him to fuck her. She could have sworn he'd laughed, but she could only hear the faintest growls of approval. He kept his eye on hers, and she matched it without issue.

Except then there is an issue, because the door cracked open.

Because of fucking course it would.

It was -- ah, Opie, fucking -- cool. Alex snatched at the mess of blankets, her eyes narrowed at the door. The damage had been done, her spread eagle with Jax's face in her cunt, but hey, modesty and all. She felt every smack of pain as she adjusted against the blankets, an apology barked out by Opie.

"Clay said take care of her, not -- "

"I mean," Jax gestured, a deep laugh.

"Yeah, don't think he meant that."

Alex rolled her eyes, buried beneath the blankets and her thighs wet. She was too afraid to touch herself, to get anything into the bandages... Fuck, she was an idiot.

"Antonio gave us a location."

"Shit. He broke that fast?"

"It's Happy dude, how long did you think it'd take? Long enough to -- " Opie gave Jax a look, to look back at Alex.

"Okay," Jax scoffed.

Alex wanted to snark back, but she'd overstepped her boundaries enough tonight. Her face was a painful shade of red, which matched the rest of her damn body at this point. She shift on the spot, annoyed that she'd not even gotten to enjoy Jax's tongue against her. She'd been so overwhelmed -- fuck, what if this was it?

"I'll let the guys know," Opie jutted his chin to the room, a half-smile spared to Alex. "We got ten minutes, tops." The door shut, and Alex remained fixed to her spot.

"Shy for a porn star."

"There's a difference and you fucking know it."

Jax crawled up closer, his hands framed against her cheeks. He kissed her, deeper than before, and for the first time Alex felt that warmth deep down. She moaned into the kiss, her hand knotted into his hair. The kiss deepened, only to break into smaller ones, shorter ones. He rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed and his breath uneven.

"Ten minutes ain't enough," he muttered.

"Could be?"

"You want a shit lay?"

Alex worked her mouth in a small circle, unsure how to answer that. She felt his hands come to rest at her sides, his thumbs brushed against her ribs, her breasts, the gradual tease against her chest. She felt too hot beneath the covers, her thighs clenched together as Jax resumed the slow kiss along her throat. He let one hand dip down, lower, his fingertips drawn along her stomach, her hip, unabashed as they curved against her.

"Jax, please," Alex whined, as she keened into his touch. The pinch at her chest and the relief inside her wore out, fast. She didn't need to be teased, far from it. She fucked and she got out, that was how she did shit.

"Gotta go," he pressed another kiss to her lips, his hands gone.

"The fuck was that then?"

Jax shrugged, his knife tucked back into its rightful place. He shouldered his holsters on, his kutte went over the top. "You stay here. I'll be back."

"To finish shit?"

"Nah," Jax shook his head. He paused, a confused look. "Well, yeah, but that's not why I'm telling you to stay. Don't know who saw you take out those girls, don't even know if it was you or what so -- you gotta lay low."

Alex felt the mood shift, her stomach dropped.

Jax thumbed his nose, his fingers scrubbed against his beard. He leaned back down, a knee on the bed and his palm laid flat on the covers. He kissed Alex, slow, thoughtful, and then he was gone. The lights went off as he exited, flicked off as a gesture; that she had to sleep.

And Alex didn't have a clue what the fuck this was, for the club, or for herself.

Fuck, weren't they supposed to talk?

What the fuck, Jax.

Alex slumped back in the bed, the dark shadows cast around the room. She laid back in the bed, tan sheets and warm browns all dulled in the darkness. She shifted, discomfort in every move. She couldn't get off here, not with her bandaged hands, her sutures... Fuck. And she couldn't get the conversation out of her head with Tara, about how she shouldn't ask questions.

Was Jax still with Tara?

Did that even matter?


End file.
